Page 49 of Fallen Petal

“Why? What’s so wrong about it?” she wants to know, positioning herself in front of me to prevent me from going any further. Her proximity is warm and soothing as it is inciting. She’s standing so close that my bulge is brushing against her belly, and when she notices it, she only steps closer, smirking at me while she tenderly rubs her body against mine.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she whispers. “It could be our secret.”

There’s already one secret tying is together. I don’t need the burden of another.

I place my hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her a step back.

“Trust me when I tell you that it’s better not go through with this, Petal.”

A treacherous shimmer coats her green eyes and her lips are trembling as she speaks.

“I don’t get this...,” she whispers. “A moment ago you were—”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for that,” I say. “I should have stopped it right away. But I couldn’t.”

A single tear rolls down her cheek while the expression on her face turns from sad to bitter.

“You don’t think I can handle it,” she assumes. “You don’t think I can do this, have a fun night with you and leave it be without any strings attached.”

“Wouldn’t you agree that it would make things harder?”

She shrugs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “We will never know, will we?”

A deep sigh flees her and she turns away from me, walking across the living room and toward the French doors that lead out to the terrace. It’s almost completely dark by now, only a faint ray of light still contouring the horizon.

“You’re a fucking coward, Jayson,” she hisses without looking at me. “Or... you played me. Is that it? You made me believe there was something special between us, just to—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I would never do that to you, Petal. That’s exactly why I’m stopping this.”

She’s wrong about the latter, but maybe she’s right with her first assessment. Maybe I am a coward for rejecting her tonight, because I fear the consequences it would bring for both of us. But I’d rather be called a coward than carry the guilt of stopping her in her tracks just as she’s about to take her life in her own hands.

She turns around to me, shame and rage flaring on her pretty face. My stomach turns at the sight of her, knowing I’m the one who’s causing her this pain. I’m the one who humiliated and pained her by saying no to something we both want.

Something I have wanted for years.

“I came here because I wanted to celebrate with you,” she utters through gritted teeth, her eyes glistening with the first harbinger of tears.

“I was happy, elated. I wanted to have fun with the only person who understands,” she continues. “The only person who ever supported me in all of this, the only person I...”

She tries to suppress it, but the urge to weep takes a violent hold of her, cutting her off mid-sentence while her hand flies up to her face as if she was trying to save herself from falling apart.

I want to hold her. I want to calm her and tell her that it’s for the better, that this decision is not a true reflection of how I feel about her, not in that sense, anyway.

But instead, I watch her from afar, like I always have, my insides still burning with desire for her, still tasting her sweet lips on mine. I have so much routine in keeping my distance to her that it comes naturally to me, even now when no one but myself can stop me from being close to her.

“You have a different adventure ahead of you, one that is far more important,” I tell her. “I want to help you embark on that journey, instead of retaining you with any kind of attachment.”

I take a step forward, trying to break my hard-earned habit, but she raises her hand in defense, signaling for me to stay away from her.

“Petal, please—”

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that right now!” she yells at me. “I’m not your Petal!”

Tears are streaming down her heated cheeks as she glares up at me. I can tell that she’s torn apart by negative emotions, unable to decide which one she should act on. Shame? Hate? Fear?

“I’m so sick of this,” she utters, her lips trembling as she forces herself to speak while being overwhelmed with the urge to wail. “I’m so sick of men telling me what to do and what not to do. I thought you were different! I thought you’d let me have this!”

She shakes her head, wiping away the tears with a violent brush of her arm.

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